And a Flame Goes Out for the Very Last Time
by Unwittingly
Summary: AU 3.15 Time is On My Side: Bela realizes that she'd rather face Lilith's Hellhounds than Dean's rage.


Spoilers: Some for 3.15 Time is On My Side

Pairing: Dean/Bela

Rating: NC-17

A/N: I wrote this as a gift!fic in a Girls of SPN fic exchange over on LiveJournal. It's smutty, but hey. That's what was requested. Any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

Bela was scared.

She would never confess it to anyone else – hell, she barely admitted it to herself – but time was running out and she was honest-to-God frightened. The first time in years, ten to be exact, that she actually felt _helpless_. She had expected Dean to come after her, was even counting on it, but when the loud _crack!_ of bullets through the motel door rang through her head, her heart leapt into her throat and it became damn near impossible to breath.

She didn't want this; she never wanted it, but once she was there, there was no stopping it. Ten years of dealing with supernatural artifacts, ghosts, witches, millionaires of unimaginable power, and yet the only person she ever came across that could actually help her was the one she actively betrayed. Dean's rage was well deserved, but it was _never_ what she wanted.

Last act of a desperate woman, and Bela was the very definition of desperate at that time. Desperate to break her deal, desperate to find salvation, but above all else, desperate to be with _someone_. She never relied on anyone, never let anyone get close. She couldn't. It was what got her into this predicament in the first place. But despite herself and her lone wolf nature, she didn't want to die alone. Bela was drowning, praying for someone to save her.

"You'll never find it, Dean," she said with all the strength she could muster, swallowing back down that lump in her throat. "You might as well kill me now."

"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart," he growled, voice dead serious and that fear panged deep in her chest, "We'll get to that soon enough."

Dean wasn't bluffing, and somehow that scared her more than she ever thought possible. But at the same time, as she watched him tear apart her room inch by inch, Bela realized that Dean was just as desperate as she was. It gave her a false sense of bravado and she decided why not? She was going to die either way; why not make it as difficult as possible for them both?

"I know about your deal."

"Now there's a surprise. The human slut has been slutting around with the demon sluts," Dean snarked, his usual unamused grin on his face. He continued his searched as though she hadn't said anything at all. "Well, save it, sister. 'cause whatever you're selling? I ain't buying. And it sure as Hell won't stop me from ventilating you."

She pressed her palms flat against the door and bowed her head a little, biting her lip. She was stronger than this. She could do this. _Tell him everything. Drag him down with you._ "I know which demon holds your contract."

That got his attention. "Come again?"

As he walked closer, gun at his side, Bela continued with her head raised almost haughtily, "I know her name. And I know that nothing you do will convince her to break it."

"Are you telling me that this _whole_ time," he stood directly in front of her and looked down on her, effectively cracking through her bluff. If he got any angrier, he's turn green and redecorate the room with pieces of her skull. "You _knew_…and you didn't say a _word_?"

_True to character. True to character. Bela Talbot. __Abigail__._"Information isn't cheap, Dean. I've been given millions for less than a name. You simply couldn't afford it."

"Oh, is that so?" He turned around and took a step away from her. She could see him lift his hand, no doubt to scrub his face in frustration, but then in a flash of motion too quick to follow, she was staring down the muzzle of his gun planted firmly between her eyes. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow you away right now, Bela." He tiled his head, a twisted smirk dancing on his lips, "Or wait, should I say 'Abbey'?"

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in a weak little gasp, "How-?"

"Information isn't cheap, _Abbey_." The name made her flinch, and all of her walls were breaking down. But she wasn't so weak as to start crying, not even when he pressed right up against her with the gun shoved beneath her chin, "Tell me, can I afford it now?"

The fear pulsing in Bela's heart practically quadrupled. Close, he was so close, so much contact, _father_, and she couldn't fucking _breathe_. Drowning and time was running out, she was falling to pieces under the fire in his eyes. They were both so very broken, so very hurt, but she had to do it, had to make it harder. Because she was Bela Talbot, and she had to be strong. Not Abigail. Not weak. Not helpless. She had to. She'd come to far to give up now.

"Do it, then. Kill me. If you can," she challenged. The Winchesters were many things, but murderers was not one of them, and she knew that. Or she thought she knew that. But the challenge seemed to offend, and Dean slammed her back into the door, the look in his eyes the picture of lethal. And that was when she realized she _wanted_ him to kill her. Getting shot wasn't pleasant by any means, but she could only imagine it would be preferable to being torn apart by Hellhounds. She was going to Hell, and there was no stopping that. No stopping anything, not even the heat building in her eyes as they glossed over. "Do it! _Plea_-"

And then Dean kissed her. Shoved up against a bullet-hole ridden door, a gun pressed between them, and her arms fell uselessly at her sides when the tears started pouring. He was kissing her,_kissing_ her, and it was _father_ _Dean_. She couldn't stop herself from shaking. She was terrified. Mortified. She couldn't move. Her mind was taken back to Abbey, helpless to fight back, and there was nothing she could do. It was too much, she couldn't, this wasn't what she wanted. He was going to hurt her, abuse her, just like back then, just like Abbey. Panic, despair; she couldn't move. This was a worse fate than the Hellhounds, than anything Lilith could dole out on her.

But then, as if he knew what she was thinking, the kiss softened and the gun fell away, replaced by a gentle hand tipping her chin up to give him better access. It was nothing like she'd ever felt before. Soft, warm, far from loving but still more compassionate than anything before. It caught her off guard, and she still didn't know what to do, but for entirely different reasons. It wasn't painful. It wasn't forced. She _let_ him, and she _wanted_ it.

One arm wrapped around her waist, Dean turned her around and led her back to the bed without breaking the kisses she had started to return. Her hands were clinging to the front of jacket because the world was falling out from beneath her and she needed to hold on. And when she felt the give of the mattress underneath her, felt Dean leaning over her with one hand firmly on her hip, Bela realized something new.

She wasn't drowning. She was burning. And Dean was going with her.

Her heart never once stopped racing, and when he moved to undress her, she all but froze into stone. No matter how much she may have wanted to be here, memory served as a cruel reminder of what _was_ and she was scared yet again. But Dean was careful, sweet, and for some ungodly reason, she _trusted_ him. The idea of sex had long since been ruined for her, no matter how well she may have covered it, and she had no clue what was supposed to happen next.

So when Dean slowly pressed a finger inside of her instead of just taking her by force, Bela let out a gasp and tightened her grip on his jacket. She cried, but not because she was being violated; because she was being treated like a _woman_, for what must've been the very first time. She looked away, eyes clenched shut because she was supposed to be stronger than this, and Dean slipped a second finger in.

"Bela," he said quietly, and the name struck a chord somewhere deep inside her, "Look at me." He called her Bela. Bela, and not Abbey, and it wasn't a command but a request. He wasn't making her do anything, but _asking_.

She turned back to him, eyes still glossy and red, then sat up and pulled him into another kiss. It was sloppy and she nearly missed his lips, but he pulled his fingers out and corrected it for her. She helped him out of his jacket and then his shirt, nervous and shaking and feeling a lot like a teenager might on their first time, but he didn't resist her or make fun of her or anything at all. He helped her, made it easier, let her do what she needed.

And at that moment, she needed him.

Dean laid her back down just as gently as before, placing light kisses on the underside of her jaw when he finally pushed inside of her. Bela cried out his name, and broken sounding cry because it had been so long since the last time and she'd forgotten the way it felt. Stretching and filling and creating this odd warmth in the pit of her stomach. She didn't understand it, but for the first time, she_enjoyed_ it, and didn't fight back when he started moving. Their breaths came ragged, though most of his were concealed by nipping at her neck and collarbone, and Bela could've sworn there were fireworks going off in the back of her head. The world was on fire and she and Dean were the only ones left.

And if she was really honest, she'd confess that she didn't even mind.

Afterwards, while she was laying next to him and staring up at a ceiling that was too dark to see, the resolve she'd found that told her to tear Dean down melted away and there was only one thing left to do. "Lilith," she said softly, breaking the dead silence of the room. She felt him shift to look over at her but didn't wait for him to ask before continuing, "The demon's name. It's Lilith. She holds your contract, and mine." He shifted back to his original position staring into the same abyss as her, and her eyes dropped a little. "I know you saw it. The Devil's shoestring? And if you know my name, my real name, then you must know about my parents as well."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She swallowed. "They wanted me to kill Sam. The Colt wasn't enough; they wanted his head on a silver platter. And I intended to give it to them."

Dean was quiet for a moment before speaking in a rather dead tone, "What made you change your mind?"

"I hardly think you need to ask that now, do you?" she sighed, closing her eyes, "It's too late for me. I know what I deserve, and I know nothing can stop it. But at the very least, maybe you can kill the bitch."

He took another good long while to respond, and he pulled her a little closer before he did, "Yeah. We'll see." And that was all before they both fell asleep under a blanket of deep, dark nothing.

A few hours later, Bela woke up to what felt like lips pressed to her forehead in a gentle kiss, but opened her eyes to find herself completely alone in the room. She glanced at the clock beside the bed and noted the time, only a few more seconds to midnight. Her stomach did flips and her heart beat too hard, but she didn't cry. Time was up, and she was scared, but she did not cry. She wasn't helpless anymore, and she wasn't weak. She wasn't Abigail.

And the last thing Bela Talbot heard was the sound of a Hellhound's jaw snapping shut and then everything was over.


End file.
